


Back to Baker Street - After the Fall

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU of what happened after the Fall, BAMF John, John follows bread crumbs, M/M, Moriarty's Web, Per the request of purplehedgehog13, this story will continue. Yeah!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25418191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: This is an AU of what happens after the Fall. What if Sherlock left clues. What if John finds them. John does what John always does, he seeks to save Sherlock. Badassery ensues
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. After the Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Per the request of purplehedgehog13, this story will continue. Yeah!!

John carried no flowers to Sherlock’s grave, only his fragile heart. The cemetery is windblown, beneath angry grey skies promising a raging storm. John stands at the grave in silence, his thoughts lingering on that day and how everything had changed for him; the day of the Fall. Coming to his knees in the verdant grass he brings his forehead to the black marble head stone. 

“I tried going back to the psychologist, it was no use. I can’t talk to her. Never could. I can only talk to you, Sherlock.”

John broke down, tears flooding his midnight blue eyes. He didn’t attempt to stop their downward flight. Gravity is too strong here in the cemetery. Turning he sits upon the ground and leans against the very cold stone. 

“I still miss you, Sherlock. I can’t seem to let go, no matter how hard I try. I keep seeing you everywhere and it’s wearing me down. It’s been months and I still feel you here in my heart. It hurts. I was angry at you when I left you Bart’s. I never got to say I didn’t mean it. I never got to tell you how much I care about you. I never said the words that stuck in my heart each time I tried, because I knew you didn’t want to hear them.”

“The only peace I find is here with you. The only place for me is at your side. We both know that, don’t we?” 

John sighs, lets his eyes close. Sliding down he lays curled upon his side, covering Sherlock’s grave and for the first time in a long time he drifts to sleep, there over the grave of his best friend. The man he has loved since they first met.

The rains come; misty at first. Gentle and magical, but the mist is a harbinger of a huge storm front that is pushing its way toward the small island, onto the silent cemetery. The storm brings a deluge of rain on John as he sleeps. Nothing wakes him, not the wind or the rain or the bone chilling cold that creeps into his sleeping flesh.

(-_-)

He’s out in the cold; hypothermia. Strong hands find him and lift him from the ground. He is light, it feels like carrying a child. An injured child that needs protecting and god he wishes he’d found him sooner. Greg carries John to his waiting car, rushing him to hospital. 

Mycroft is notified and he speeds to St. Michael's, his heart heavy. This is bad. It’s been heart-wrenching watching John spiral into darkness. He has Anthea cancel all his calendar appointments for the day. John deserves that at least.

“Where did you find him?” Mycroft asks as he approaches Lestrade. The men stand close together, their friendship having deepened over their mutual concern for John.

“He was at his grave. By the looks of him, he was out there quite a while. Hypothermia they are saying, but I fear that isn’t the worst of it.”

Mycroft’s careful mask of neutrality falters briefly. “I’ll stay for a while.”

“That would be good. Martha will be by this afternoon and Molly will take some time in the evening. I don’t think we should leave him alone right now. I think this was a cry for help.”

“I’m not sure we can rationalize that John was attempting anything more than being with Sherlock, but I will gladly stay.”

John slept and a microbe within him danced. It replicated and by the next morning, he had the beginnings of a respiratory infection. Immediately, antibiotics are administered and everyone watches, hoping that he will get better soon. 

(-_-)

John is resting in an unfamiliar bed. Machines and monitors hiss and click at his side. The hospital smells linger between antiseptic and forensics; which is as it should be. The nasal cannula under his nose breathes oxygen into his lungs. 

_Sherlock sits in a chair next to John’s bed; his head resting on the bed._

_“Sherlock.” John tries to touch him, but he can’t make his body respond to his will._

_Sherlock raises his head. “John, you have to go back to Baker Street.”_

_“I watched you fall, I saw you dead? What is this Sherlock, not understanding?”_

_“You have to back to Baker Street, John. Please do this for me.”_

There is sadness in Sherlock’s eyes and he looks as if he, too, has suffered from his loss of John. He gives John one of his ‘John’ smiles; the ones that only John had ever seen.

(-_-)

John takes a deep breath. Finding his lungs can’t manage too much and he coughs a bit to clear his passageways.

“John, dear, how good to see you awake. You’ll want some water?” Martha stands to hold the bendy straw in the plastic cup of water to his lips. Gratefully John takes as much as he could handle.

“Your bedside manner is exceptional, Martha, you’ve done this before.” John smiles at her, his first smile in a long, long time.

“We need to get you back on your feet and home to Baker street, love.” She set his glass down on the bed side stand, sits down, taking his hand in hers. She is the best mother John could remember having in his entire life.

“I… I really can’t afford Baker Street on my own, Martha,” John looks into her compassionate eyes. He can’t tell her that it is too painful to think about being there alone.

“But John, dear, you’ve paid rent for the next 2 years. There’s no need for you to stay at that terrible bedsit anymore. I know it will be hard at first…”

John tries to sit up as Martha stands, positioning a pillow behind him so that he’ll be comfortable. “Who paid the rent, Martha?” 

“Why you did John; it came from your account as it always does.” 

A mystery! John felt a bolt of lightening strike him. Is this how Sherlock felt when he had a puzzle set before him? He had to get out of hospital, John felt a door in his heart open. He had to find an answer to this question.

“Yes, Martha, I need to get back to Baker Street.”

(-_-)

It seems Dr. Watson could be just as disruptive as his dead flatmate. No one wanted John out of bed, let alone out of the hospital. When Molly arrived, accompanied by Martha, it was nearly impossible to keep John anywhere he didn’t want to be. Molls and Martha bundled him up for the damp, cold weather outside. Lovingly they took John back to his only home. Molly went to his bedsit, bringing his few belongings back to Baker Street as Martha settled John in. She brought him plenty of homemade soup and lots of love. They both stayed till he literally escorts them out; saying he is fine with being alone.

That night John slept in Sherlock’s bed. He thought that it would be difficult being there without Sherlock. Yet it feels like he was still there; still lurking about the flat, making stealthy noises, thinking thoughts that you could almost hear. John slept well for the first time in many long months. Rest is what he needed. Rest and being back at Baker street.

(-_-)

First thing in the morning, John pulls his check book from the boxes of his things.

Martha woo hooed soon after, bringing in the copy of the check for the two years worth of rental payments. It is in John’s handwriting, the check is from his checkbook. 

“I didn’t write this check,” John has a stunned look on his face. “I’m not sure where all this money is coming from either?” Sherlock can forge my writing whenever he wants to. Excuse me Martha, I need to check out our bank.”

(-_-)

John goes to their bank where their join account resides only to find more conundrums waiting there for him. The shared account has a hundred thousand pounds in it. And there is a safety deposit box that he knew nothing about.

“I didn’t sign for this service?” 

“This is your signature, Dr. Watson,” the banker’s assistant shows him the paperwork.

John opens the box in private and finds more puzzles inside. John is now executor of Sherlock’s estates and all his financial dealings. Bottom line is there is more money here than John could spend in five life times. There were islands in the Caribbean, estates in six countries and on and on and on. In the bottom of the box a note written in a familiar spidery hand.

**Please to not follow me, John. In the event of my not returning to you, know that my affections cannot be conveyed in mere words. All that I am and everything that I have is yours.**

**With respect and hopes for a swift reunion, SH**

“You bastard,” John says under his breath. “You arrogant bastard; don’t you dare order me around. I told you never to leave me behind. I will follow you through the gates of hell, if I want.”

Leaving the bank, calling his solicitor, he talks at length with her, then it was back to 221B.

(-_-)

John goes over their last conversation. “Just a magic trick…tell everyone who will listen…I’m a fake.” The crowd around the body, everyone hampering and impeding John’s attempts to get close to Sherlock. The ‘hospital attendants’ that rushed the body away. No one disturbs a suicide by removing the body before the police even get there. What about the police? John hadn’t seen anyone until hours later when Lestrade found him disoriented in the A&E of Bart’s being treated for a mild concussion. It had all been fishy from the start.

Sitting in his chair at Baker Street. John speed dials Mycroft's number. 

“Bravo John. You are faster than either of us predicted.” Mycroft’s clipped tones don’t bother with the formalities of a civil greetings.

“What the fuck is he going at, Mycroft?”

(-_-)

John lowers his mobile to his lap. Mycroft hadn’t held back in filling in the blanks of what had actually transpired that day at Bart’s.

“I only know where he’s at when he checks in or asks for specific assistance. He wanted you to know that you have unlimited finances at your disposal, John. I will aid you in any way or by any means that you require. You have my assurances; my influences and any forces you find essential are at your disposal.” Mycroft knew full well that John is not going to be hindered in any way.

John sat in his chair looking longingly at Sherlock's chair.

“Now what do I do? You knew that I would eventually find the bread crumbs.” Standing, John begins searching the flat. “You prat, I know you were trying to protect me, but who the hell is protecting you?” 

John knew that they were a unique pair. Better together than alone. Without him, Sherlock is at higher risk of failure. 

“Where would I put important stuff if I were Sherlock Holmes?” John speaks aloud, talking to the imaginary Sherlock in his head. 

He finds it, of course he does, ‘hidden’ in his room. A special mobile, hidden behind the molding at the back of John’s bed. The only indication is a tiny strand of one of John’s jumpers caught in the wood. Nobody would think twice about the implications of the clue. No one would ever suspect.

The satellite mobile is definitely black ops grade. Mycroft hadn’t mentioned it, so possibly he didn’t know about it either. He phones Mycroft giving him data on Sherlock’s mobile. Mycroft takes information off the ‘special’ satellite mobile Sherlock left, making sure that the encryption on the device will hide it from any bad actors. Underneath the mobile, paper work, a passport for one Joe Baker. UK resident who looks exactly like John Watson. Among the papers is a letter to John from one Sherlock Holmes. 

**My dear John, if you are reading this then you’ve come back to Baker Street and found the special mobile. Please think twice about what you are about to do. Please know you are more important to me than my own life. I can not stop your bullheadedness. I can only adore you valiant heart. SH.**

“You are sure saying please a great deal. You...I love you Sherlock Holmes.” John says as he gathers up the paperwork and begins his new adventure. Finding Sherlock Holmes.

(-_-)

In a flurry of action, John contacts his solicitor, talks to Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Lestrade. Sets things in motion, should he not return. With courage and conviction in his heart, he sets the apartment in order. Packing his duffel bag, he knows now what he has to do. He has to find Sherlock Holmes, his heart, his soul. The love of his life. To join him in whatever endeavor he finds himself. To bring him safely back to Baker street.

Lifting the mobile, he sets the GPS tracker to find Vatican Cameos. 

(-_-)

“John!” Sherlock’s voice is hoarse, barely recognizable. “Please tell me you’re not anywhere near here.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

Sherlock sniffs back a choked laugh. “I should never have left those clues. I thought you’d never get to the mobile. You’ve learned too well.”

“I had the best teacher. I’m close. Give me ten minutes.”

Sherlock is spent. This last shredding of Moriarty’s web has taken so much out of him. He is thrilled that John is here. As well as terrified that he is too close. Down deep he knows that he left the clues hoping that John would come. What does that say about him?

 _It says that you love him more than you want to acknowledge. He thinks. It says that life without John Watson in it isn’t really living at all._

Hidden behind a make-shift barricade. Sherlock delicately swipes the blood from his face. The gun in his right hand scans the area along with his eyes. He must be vigilant. It wouldn’t do for John to find him deceased at the hands of Moriarty’s second in command, Moran.


	2. Watson the the Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Energized, John know he has to rescue Sherlock. With help from Mycroft, he saddles up with a military cadre to find his flaky flatmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a military person. I want to honor and praise those individuals who follow that path. So what you are about to read is my imaginary writers concept of what this type of situation would entail. Thanks again for reading and all kudos and comments (even just a 'thanks') are appreciated.

John’s safety helmet with its computer generated overview of the situation area in one corner of his face shield is mind blowing. The com link that allows him to communicate with the myriad troops, drone pilot and back-up personnel under his command is like nothing in his experience. He is dressed in a special total body uniform that is explosion resistant as well as bullet proof. His specialized gun has enough techno wiz-bangs on it to make his head spin. Here is were his medical training serves him well. His ability to pick up training on the fly has let him master the weapon in his hands faster than most. He’d never even thought that this kind of high tech surveillance assistance was possible. Brand new black ops accouterments provided by science and technology have leaped forward in his time away from the military.

“Captain, we have a set parameter with sharp shooters on high. Awaiting orders.””

(John had not asked the men given to him to call him captain. There were other ranking men in his cadre. Each now looking to him for leadership in this venture. When he stood before them, he’d taken that command stance and spoken with his captain’s voice. Old habits, it seems, can’t be washed away by time. As several of the men taught him how to use the new-to-him tech. He flourishes in the new environment. His men see the true leader in him, that was all they needed to know; they will follow him into danger.) 

“Show drone views?” He asks of the pilot controlling the drone high above. The screen on his visor gives him several overviews of the area inside and outside the parameter. Infrared shows that there are eight hostiles and one friendly.

“Have secondary cadre maintain the perimeter.”

“Captain.” Their drone pilot reports. “There are EO on the ground.”

“Call in EOD personnel.” John orders. Explosive ordinance makes everything that much harder, John thinks. “I want Khan and Simon to protect the friendly. Primaries, you are on me. We are going after the hostiles. Please highlight the EO on our shields, Russell.”

“EO info to your shields.” The drone tech informs the troops. Immediately the explosives are highlighted.

His men fan out around him, as John takes point. 

“Copy that. Gotta love technology.” John states with a grin.

(-_-)

Sherlock is hyperalert. Waiting. Then close machine gun fire. Machine guns! Moran’s people have hand guns. John! Yet this isn’t one person; it sounds like many. 

“Mr. Holmes.” A voice sounds to Sherlock’s left. “Mr. Holmes, it’s Arsalan, Arsalan Khan. I’m here with Simon to escort you to our base camp.”

Sherlock lowers his gun as the two men approach. Recognizing one of Mycroft’s Special Air Services personnel. 

“I have medical training. Please, may I look at your wound.” Simon says as he pulls out his med kit. Kneeling down next to Sherlock. While Khan keeps vigilance.

“Arsalan, where has my brother been keeping you?”

“Mostly in big trouble, Mr. Holmes.” Arsalan grins as he surveys the immediate area.

“Call me Sherlock, please. We’ve been through these blips before Arsalan.” Sherlock winces as Simon applies a medicated swab to his head wound.

“Sherlock, I don’t think you understand the meaning of blip. Blips don’t try to kill you.”

There is more machine gun fire.

“John’s out there isn’t he?”

“Yeah, captain is taking down the hostiles with the rest of our men.”

Sherlock brushes Simon’s hands away. Standing he begins to head in the direction of the gun fire. 

Both Khan and Simon stand, getting in front of Sherlock, using their long guns to block his way.

“I have to be with John.”

“Our orders are to take you to base camp and keep you safe.” Khan states unequivocally.

Sherlock stares at the two men. His head leaning away from them. Eyes going to laser focus. 

“Sherlock don’t make us do this the hard way. You don’t want to go there.”

(-_-)

Sporadic gun fire accentuates the air. One of the explosives detonates. 

“We need transport for the friendly.” Khan’s voice comes across the com link.

John, in the middle of the fire fight, can't query Khan’s request. Sherlock’s hostiles are wily and slippery as eels. Yet they aren’t a match for John’s men. Working in perfect coordination, one by one the hostiles are neutralized.

(-_-)

“Tennet, can you work the extraction and process clean up? I need to get to base camp.” John asks his next in command.

“Sure, captain, we’ve got this covered.”

Ordering transport to base camp, John is on his com. “Khan can you give me status on Sherlock?”

“Sir, he is resting comfortably. We had to tranquilize him. He was determined to go into the hot spot and there was no stopping him.”

John breaths a sigh of relief. “Yeah, he can be a pain in the arse when he gets his pants in a twist. I’m just glad you were there. If it had been someone he didn’t know, they might have had to use force. On my way; will be there in ten. Thanks, Arsalan.”

“See you in ten, John.” Arsalan and Simon stay close to Sherlock. Their objective still stands. Protecting Sherlock, even if it is from himself.

(-_-)

When he gets to base camp, John goes directly to medical unit. There resides Sherlock on a med-bay bed, covered in his own blood. Sherlock’s head wound has bled profusely so it looks worse than it actually is. 

“I’ve administered the antidote, Captain. He should be coming around shortly.” Simon advises.

“Thanks men, you are relieved.” John pulls up a chair and sits next to his Sherlock.

Turning sideways so as not to disturb Sherlock; John is talking with his men via his com link as he waits for Sherlock to wake up. 

Slowly, as if swimming to the surface of his own personal lake, Sherlock awakens. Hearing John’s voice he turns to view the object of his obsession. His adoration. His love. There John sits, obviously speaking to someone via a com link in his ear. Dressed in his military garb, his straight back, his command voice; John is a vision of strength, loyalty and leadership. Sherlock can barely breathe, his head spinning with the love that floods his heart. Yet, this is the same man who willingly follows him through the streets of London. Who watches his back, his front and all his other bits with accurate and lethal force.

Sherlock smiles his ‘only for John’ smile and as if John can feel that smile, he looks over to Sherlock. John breaks into his ‘only for Sherlock’ smile. His eyes alight with warmth and passion, John pulls his chair close to Sherlock’s bed.

“End trans.” John says into his com as he takes up Sherlock’s hand. “As soon as you’re better, I swear I’m going to kill you. What do you think you were doing letting me think you were dead? Haring off to who knows where, doing who knows what? You gob smacking idiot!”

Observing Sherlock’s eyes, John can see that massive intellect coming back on line. The Mind Palace lights coming on. John lifts Sherlock’s hand to his mouth as he devotedly kisses that ivory appendage.

“I grieved your death.” John’s eyes glisten with tears that slide easily down his cheeks. “You daft pillock!”

Sherlock melts inside. He’s never been insulted so lovingly in his life. “Life without you, John, is no life at all. I had to protect you from Moriarty’s minions. Going undercover was the only way. These eight men were the last of the putrid lot.”

“I wasn’t there to shield you. Protect you, Sherlock.” John joins Sherlock on the bed, taking him up in his strong arms. Crushing Sherlock to his chest with a possessiveness that is physically overwhelming. “You never, ever do that to me again. You hear me! Never again!” John is crying profusely now. Sherlock can’t discern if they are tears of anger, rage or joy?

Sherlock returns John’s hug with his own fierce embrace that locks the two men into one. The closeness is so long overdue. Sherlock can feel his own eyes fill with tears of relief; the end of his long journey to destroy Moriarty’s web. Tears of ecstasy knowing that though angry, he will still find a place in John’s heart. Tears of unbridled happiness. Finally, finally, he can go home; back to Baker street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you like to see more of this work? Please write "More" in the comments section.


	3. Love in the Time of Baker Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock finally find their love for each other. Oh, and Mrs. Hudson can fricking cook, alright!

Taking Sherlock back to Baker street is an emotional roller coaster for both of them. Sherlock is in physical and psychological distress. He has lost weight and suffered many injuries during his time away. John is on the edge of angry with Sherlock, yet seeing his Sherlock in such desperate straits affects him. His altruistic side takes over. 

“John, I don’t need your mollycoddling.” Sherlock huffs as John drapes one of Mrs. Hudson’s comforters over his lap. Then lifting a tray from the coffee table, he sits it squarely on Sherlock’s lap. The contents of the tray is covered with a tea towel.

“What is this?” 

“This a small, nutritive amount of calories with additional mountains of love and affection.” John whisks the towel away to reveal a steaming cup of tea, tiny bowel of smoked oysters (his favorite) and a honey walnut scone from Hudder’s kitchen (his super favorite).

Sherlock gives a small smile and goes for the scone. John redirects his hand to the oysters first. 

“Please eat the scone last. Please.” John gives Sherlock his best parental look of concern. 

Sherlock lifts the tiny bowel and takes the tiny fork; beginning to munch. The oysters are actually quite tasty. Finishing off the bowel, he lifts it up. “More please.”

“Of course.” John turns to get more oysters. Knowing that in the interim Sherlock will nick a corner of his scone. Coming back John notices the missing piece of the scone as Sherlock sips his tea. Looking with anticipation for his oysters.

Taking the oysters from John, he eats them slowly, savoring the flavor. Then twirls the tiny fork, impaling his patiently waiting scone as he prepares to devour it as well. 

John has a bemused look on his face as he watches Sherlock practically climax over his beloved scone. He concedes he loves Sherlock with every fiber of his being. Watching him gain weight and recover from the pain and suffering that he has experienced while he dismantled Moriarty’s web has been gratifying.

John takes the tray from Sherlock’s lap as he places a loving kiss upon his cheek. 

“I’d like more of those, please.” Sherlock says softly.

“Another scone?” John guesses.

“More kisses.” 

John smiles. “I’ll be right back.” Taking the tray to the kitchen, he hurriedly sets it down returning to Sherlock’s side.

Sherlock lifts the comforter to allow John to snuggle next to him, then covers them both.

“Ready when you are.” John mentions. Sherlock knows that already.

(-_-)

Sherlock wakes to find himself wrapped around his John. Basking in the warmth and olfactory sensation of John in his arms. This is all he has ever dreamed of. All he will ever want out of this life. Being back home has helped his health improve dramatically. All due to the John’s care and attention to his every need. Giving him alone time when he needs it and filling his life with love, unconditional love that allows him to heal the wounds that have been inflicted upon him. 

How, he thinks, has he ever gotten along without the strength, resiliency and combat readiness of the man in his embrace. Life before John fades from memory. Only John matters now. Watching John sleep, he observes every detail of the man he loves. John huffs a breath and turns in Sherlock’s arms. Curling into his chest without waking. Sherlock finds his heart blossoming with a transformative love. Unbidden, tears of adoration fill Sherlock’s eyes as his arms encircle John binding him into his opening heart.

Sherlock’s mobile vibrates with Hudder’s signal. Snatching the device from the bedside table, he looks at her text.

Full English up in 30 minutes. Casual dress encouraged.

Tapping his reply one handed, he places the mobile back were it was.

“John.” He whispers in his most alluring voice. “Mrs. Hudson has a Full English waiting for us, love. I think it behooves us to drape ourselves appropriately and show up to take advantage of her brilliant cooking.”

Opening one eye, John stretches, notices Sherlock’s tear stain face. Wakes fully. “You okay?” John touches his hand to his lovers face.

“Never better.” Sherlock beams. “A Hudder’s breakfast awaits.”

“Starving.” John replies as he kisses those sensuous lips. Sliding out of bed, grabbing Sherlock as he does. Throwing Sherlock’s dressing gown at him as he shimmies into his own. John smiles his ‘I love you, you magnificent git’ smile. No words can convey what that simple smile does.

Together they move toward the day room and down the stairs. The Full English is evident in the aroma that waifs over them. 

Entering the open door, they converge in the kitchen. The small table there has been expanded to hold the burgeoning breakfast that awaits them. 

“Ah lovely, my dears. I hope you are hungry?”

“When it comes to your food, Mrs Hudson, we would crawl over criminal masterminds to get to your meals.” John compliments her.

Mrs. Hudson twitters with giggles as she puts the last of the brimming plates on the table.  
(-_-)

Lounging in their bed, Sherlock’s head rests against John’s chest. He can feel the soothing, harmonic beat of John’s heart. John is massaging Sherlock’s scalp; his strong hands rub the full surface of Sherlock’s head as he also gently pulls on his inky black curls. Sherlock finds this touch so liberating. John’s healing touch, is like nothing else he’s ever experienced. It takes him out of mind and body, relaxing and refreshing him as nothing else can.

Sherlock can not remember smiling so much in all his life. He’s sure he will strain the muscles in his face from all this happiness. Knowing that John is here. There is nothing that the world can throw at them. No darkness, no super nova light that can alter their love, their lives.

Taking one of John’s hands, he lovingly kisses the palm. Turning his head he looks up into the eyes of his lover. There he sees the same adoration that he feels in his soul.


End file.
